The Day Before Yesterday
by Zippikins
Summary: He wonders if work will ever go back to the way it was, but then decides that maybe it would be better if it didn't. Chapter two up, please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Everyone has a post-Twilight story; this is mine. Incidently, it's also my first published NCIS story. I hope you all enjoy it; I've got many ideas of more to come.

"I thought I'd die before I ever heard-"

Her words are cut off without warning, and even as Tony turns to see why, her body is falling, folding neatly on itself until crumpling to the rooftop with a dull sort of thud. His gun's up and at the ready, always the good little NCIS agent, but he recognizes enough of the situation to know it was a sniper's bullet, one whose shooter won't be easily caught. He hears Gibbs mumble one word, one name, and though it fits, even makes sense in some kind of morbid way, his body rebels, stalking towards the edge of the roof while his eyes scan the opposite building for any place big enough for a man, a cowardly, waste-of-space-poor-excuse-for-a-man to hide.

He hears Gibbs barking commands into his cell phone, hears the name Ducky, and thinks he called the medical examiner before paramedics because he's closer, only a few blocks away waiting in his van. This doesn't bode well for Kate, and by extension Tony, this obvious need for speed, but he doesn't take a moment to think about it. Gibbs calls to him, but Tony doesn't hear; for the first time since being put on Gibbs team, he ignores his boss.

He's always had exceptional eyesight, but this time he thinks it might be failing him. There's no movement on the opposite roof, nothing that would give rise to the belief that the shooter was there. He thinks he's failed Kate, that by failing to get the man who did _that _to her, she'll actually be dead in a way some part of him already knows she is. And as tears begin to fill his eyes, blurring and clouding his vision, he sees it. A glimpse of a movement, nothing much more than a twitch, but he has it and he's _sure _it's the right move.

He takes one shot, and then another, and another, emptying his clip into his miniscule target, an inarticulate cry rising up and out of his throat, growing louder and more anguished with each exiting bullet. He keeps shooting after he's out of ammo, but the loud, empty click that sounds after pulling the trigger isn't nearly as satisfying as the loud _boom _that came with the previous shots.

A hand descends from nowhere, and settles on his shoulder, squeezing gently. He whirls at the intrusion, gun still up though now useless except maybe as a blunt instrument, his chest heaving with the exhurtion of the past minute. Gibbs looks at him sadly, but he knows the weapon is empty, and doesn't flinch away. Tony glances past his boss, sees Palmer and Ducky covering Kate with a white sheet, slowly, almost reverently. The energy leaves him in a rush, his arms fall and his gun clatters on the tar papered rooftop.

"He's gone, Tony."

He wants to deny that, to say that he's sure he got him, that Kate's attacker (he still can't think if her as dead) won't bother her anymore. He's aware that the last bit is at least true, but not in the way he had hoped.

The heavy metal door to the roof crashes open, and McGee hurries through, gun drawn and for once, Tony thinks, looking like the agent he is becoming before their very eyes. But then he sees the sheet covered body, and his gaze flickers over to Tony and Gibbs, who still has his hand on the younger man's shoulder. McGee's face sort of collapses in on itself, and he raises a hand to cover his eyes.

Ducky rises slowly from beside the body (_Kate) _and as he nears the two men still standing near the roof's edge, a tear breaks loose from his eye, and makes it past his nose before he swipes it away. "Death was instantaneous, Jethro,"he says softly. "She didn't stand a chance."

Tony's knees begin to feel weak, and he thinks that even though Dinozzos aren't known for passing out he should hurry up and sit down before he embarrasses himself. His legs have other ideas, as his body always seems to, and before Ducky or Gibbs have a shot at catching him, he crashes onto his knees, tar paper biting painfully through his pants. His hands arrest his movement before he can go further, and he remains like that, supporting himself on knees and dangerously shaking elbows. He feels like he might throw up, but his years of police work have prepared him better than that.

"C'mon, Tony,"Gibbs says quietly. "We gotta go. Area's not secure."

He motions for McGee to help, since Ducky has moved on to supervise the photographing of Kate _(the body)_. McGee walks over with stiff, wooden legs, and they both grab an arm, hauling Tony to his feet.

"He shouldn't have come to work today,"McGee says, and it's as close as he'll ever get to speaking against his superior that Gibbs can only stare for a long minute. He's right, of course; Tony looked horrible before now, and combined with the effects of the past twenty minutes, he looks like death warmed over.

They have to step over the body of a fallen terrorist, but Gibbs leaves them in the concrete stairwell leading up to the roof, with strict instructions for McGee to keep a close eye on DiNozzo. He pauses a half step outside the threshold, hunched stature framed by fast receding sunlight, and turns to regard all that is left of his field team. Tony has collapsed into himself, and now leans heavily against the dirty concrete wall, as though he no longer possesses the strength to hold himself upright. The blood splatter on his face, that until now Gibbs hadn't noticed, contrasts greatly with his pale complexion, making him seem even sicker. His hands hang between his knees, long fingers dangling uselessly in the space below. McGee sits two steps farther down, as though worried Tony might give up any second and tumble down the remaining stairs. He's buried his face in his hands, although from Gibbs' angle, he can see his face is dry, and one eye remains locked on his fellow agent.

For not the first time since taking this job, he wishes he wasn't the boss. He wishes he could sit down with his fellow agents, and do nothing but think of what a great loss this was to all of them. He knows that he has loads of unpleasant business ahead of him, and he knows that he could lessen the effect on himself by involving those two. But despite the near constant bickering and consistent evidence to the contrary, the three had been extremely close, and since Gibbs isn't a total monster, he decides to give them a moment to get themselves together.

He walks back onto the tar paper, leaving the door open a crack behind him by wedging an abandoned brick against the doorjamb. There are other agents he recognizes from the office milling around the sheet covered body, solemn looks on their faces. They are mourning the loss of a co-worker, a sort of detached regret related to such an obvious waste of life. But they didn't know. They may have seen Cate in passing, talked to her in the break room, or down in the lobby. But they didn't know her. They didn't know that she planned on having kids one day. They didn't know that she once broke up with a guy because he didn't use mouthwash. They had no idea that she had taken it upon herself to improve the health of her teammates. They are mourning the murder of Special Agent Todd, not Cate. They are worlds apart, and Gibbs feels nothing but contempt for the difference.

He spots NCIS Director Tom Morrow heading his way, and briefly considers walking the other way. But Cate deserves better than that, so he roots his feet to the rooftop below him, and waits.

"What the hell happened, Gibbs?"

Gibbs can't help but wince, because the Director's words are indicative of the scores of investigations that are sure to follow. If there was anything that could've been done to avoid this loss of life, and if blame should be laid, whose shoulders should be the ones to take it. Or, though Gibbs thought this outcome might be worse in a way, the whole thing buried, never to be solved and never to see the light of day again.

He takes a deep breath before beginning. He wants to round off on the man, give him some kind of snarky remark to wipe that fake look of concern off his wrinkled old face. But he finds he doesn't have the energy to do so. "Dinozzo and I had just neutralized the drone from the rooftop. Three terrorists were down, one more was firing on McGee from somewhere on the third floor. We were moving to flush him out, send him into McGee's gun, but he came up to us." He looks past the steely resolve of the Director, to where they are carefully loading her body onto a stretcher. "Cate...Agent Todd, saw our man coming out the stairwell door, he fired, she took the bullet. It was over, it should've been over. She was wearing her vest. But then Ari Haswari shot her. With a sniper bullet, from the next building. We underestimated that prick again, and this time Cate paid the price."

His eyes drop to the blood pool left on the rooftop, bits of bone and grey matter swimming in it. He wants to be sick, but even if he was one to give in to his own urges, he doesn't want to sully Cate's memory by vomiting all over it.

"We'll need your guns, of course,"the Director says, even as Gibbs is pulling it out of his holster and holding it out. "Where's the rest of your team?"

Gibbs' eyes narrow, until his gaze could surely melt stone. "They just lost a teammate. They're taking a minute." He motions to the far end of the roof, where Dinozzo's gun has been left abandoned where it fell. "That's Tony's over there."

He knows the Director wants to remark on the cleverness of leaving a loaded gun out in the open, so he waves his hands in what approximates to a 'leave it alone' gesture. "The clip's empty, the building's secure."

He lifts the gun, checks the chamber to make sure, and hands the nine millimeter over to the Director.

"Go back to headquarters, take care of the paperwork. Then I don't want to see you or your team for a full week. Are we clear?"

Gibbs simply nods, because he doesn't want to be in that bullpen with that empty desk, and since he's resigned anyway, he has no reason to go back.

Morrow's hand lands on his shoulder, and even though the touch is brief, it leaves a lasting impression on the man who has never needed human comfort.

It's a long few minutes before he can return to the stairwell, and his team.

When they arrive at headquarters, it's to a plethora of sympathetic looks and promises of vengeance. Gibbs doesn't notice them, he's on a mission; to return to his desk and chug back the cooling coffee he left there. He feels as though he might colapse before he gets there. Tony is still walking around in a daze; the blood that remains on his face is a painful reminder of what they are all trying desperately to forget. The paramedics that arrived on the scene tried to clean him up but he put up such a fuss, complete with flailing arms and curse words, the only animation he has shown since crashing the drone, that Gibbs eventually waved them off. McGee is left to accept consoling words, a slightly ironic fact considering he knew Caitlin Todd the least amount of time. But he knows that doesn't matter anymore, that nobody is going to call him on it.

They arrive on their floor, and in one simaultaneous move, all heads turn in their direction. Gibbs steps off the elevator, and with one swath of his steely gaze, averts the onlookers. Tony and McGee exit next, shoulder to shoulder, and those who weren't properly intimidated by the boss man are taken aback from the blood on Tony's face.

The bullpen is empty save for one person; a black haired pigtailed genious in diametrically opposing white lab coat and black fishnet stockings with red hightop sneakers. Abby's already heard the news; she might be confined to the lab, but she is still a part of the team and as such, knows everything that goes on out in the field. She's clutching a half eaten energy bar in one hand, but if the Big Gulps she downs at regular intervals are any kind of indication it wasn't her who carefully rewrapped it in hopes of later consumption.

She raises her head at the approaching footsteps and though her face is dry, it's clear she's on the verge of tears. She places the bar on the desk she's leaning against, and hurries into the outstretched arms waiting for her. Gibbs holds her close in a rare display of intimacy, and strokes her hair softly. "I'm sorry, Abs."

She pulls back, and annoyed at her own weakness, swipes at her face. "Are you guys okay?" She looks over the boss carefully, then her gaze shifts to McGee, standing off to one side and looking as though he'd like the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "Where's Tony?"

McGee frowns, and turns around, saying, "He was right here. I mean, I thought he was."

"I'll go find him,"Abby says, straightening her labcoat and wiping at her eyes again. "He can't have gone far."

She moves to step around her co-workers, but a silent communication is exchanged over her head, and her forward momentum is arrested suddenly. "No, Abby. I'll go. He's probably just in the bathroom. I'll be right back." McGee gives her a reassuring smile, glances at Gibbs quickly, then turns without another word and strides quickly away. It seems him and Gibbs thought on the same wavelength; apparently neither of them wanted Abby to see Kate's blood splattered all over her friends face. McGee hadn't considered how that might affect her before arriving here, but obviously Tony had.

He reaches the men's bathroom, in the corner most opposite the bank of elevators. He knocks first, calls out Tony's name, but when no response is forthcoming he enters boldly. The stalls are empty, the sinks dry. It doesn't look to McGee like anybody has been in there all morning. He closes his eyes softly, sighs heavily, and even as he's stepping up to the sink to wash his hands, he's thinking of other places Tony might've gone. The building isn't that big, and not even Tony could get far with that much blood on his face.

He turns the tap on, soaps up his hands, and tries not to remember how bright the pool of blood looked against the rooftop. He's drying his hands with a wad of paper towels when a muffled sound makes it's way to his ears. His frown deepens, he tosses the paper towel in the garbage can. He didn't even think to look in the door connecting both male and female bathrooms to the showers. But now as another sound comes through the nearly closed door, he realises that was a mistake.

"Tony?" McGee opens the door slowly, and slips in before letting the door close behind him. Tony's sitting right across from him, in the shower stall directly opposite the door. He must've made a beeline for it, McGee thinks as he nears his fellow agent. There's a blood stained towel in a heap on the floor next to him, McGee notices, but his face isn't entirely clean yet. He stops at the edge of the stall, the toes of his expensive work shoes just touching the tile work of the shower. Tony looks up with wide, sad eyes, and moves over a few inches, enough to make room for McGee to sit down.

The probationary agent is grateful, because up this close, he can see bits of skull bone and grey brain matter mixed in with the blood on Tony's face, and this way he can sit down before his wobbly knees make a scene and he embarrasses himself. The shower stall isn't that wide, and even with both of them as far over as they can go to their respective sides, their shoulders are touching in between. This surprises McGee; the man sitting next to him, the one who could barely admit that McGee was now a field agent, let alone a part of the team, had acted more like a friend in the past hour than he had in all the time they had known each other.

"Where's Gibbs?"Tony asks, and even though his voice is raspy, his eyes aren't wet.

"With Abby. In the bullpen. Director Morrow doesn't want to see us for a week."

Tony snorts, but there is no humour behind it. "After our reports are filed, I'm sure."

McGee nods, even allows himself a small smile. "Actually, yeah." He pauses for a few seconds, then says, "Abby's looking for you."

He doesn't respond immediately, save for an obvious slumping of his shoulders. "I wasn't being a coward. I just...I didn't want her to see this." He makes a shapeless movement with one trembling hand, encompassing his face and the bloody towel next to him. "Then once I got here, I couldn't go back out there."

McGee nods again. He glances next to him, at the man he used to think was unable to form personal attachments. He now stands corrected. He can see it in the endless loyalty he holds for Gibbs, the pedestal he keeps for his boss only. He sees it in the way he takes care of Abby, makes sure her current squeeze is taking care of her right. He says he knows how to guard against his type better than anyone. Most importantly, McGee can see it in the way he grieves for Kate. Kate, who everyone knew annoyed him relentlessly, who revelled in teasing him, and hitting with as many low blows as she could. And who, in turn, knew how to take Tony's teasing and what might even be considered harrassment in some ways, with good grace and humour. Her absence will be felt, he knows. And in more ways than her skills as an agent.

McGee stands finally, wiping at the seat of his pants. "We've got to go back out there. Gibbs is gonna need us." He extends a hand down to Tony, and for a second, thinks he might ignore it. But then the older agent is nodding, excepting the help and rising to his feet. McGee grabs a clean towel from the stack at the far end of the room, and tosses it to Tony. And despite the situation, he finds himself smiling. There's still a team. They may have lost one of their key components, but they'll carry on. That's what teams do.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, the deal's this: I never intended for this to become a multiple chapter piece. Nonetheless, here's the second installment. I've got a vague storyline in mind, so expect more. Just don't expect it soon. College starts in a few days.

* * *

Tony is alone. The bullpen is empty, the entire floor silent in what he assumes to be a period of mourning. Gibbs is in MTAC, resinding his resignation and arguing with an air of desperation to be allowed to search for Ari Haswari. Something tells Tony that he will be looking with permission or without. Easier to ask forgiveness, and all that crap. McGee has gone on a dinner run with Abby, though nobody asked him to, and very few people will be consuming whatever they bring back. Tony suspects McGee just wanted an excuse to get Abby out of autopsy. There was something strangely morbid about her insisting she watch Kate's post-mortem examination.

Tony shudders at the thought. He is the only member of the team that hasn't gone down to autopsy since...it happened. Kate was a vibrant person, full of life and energy even on her worst days. That's how he wants to remember her, not laying naked on a table in the morgue with a hole in her head waiting to be cut open like a slab of meat. She is...was...more than that.

He rolls his shoulders, in a waste of energy attempt to loosen the knots there. He feels like he's been wound tighter than a spring board for as long as he can remember; he's forgotten the mood that usually led to the playful bantering that so often inhabited this workspace. He wonders if work will ever go back to the way it was, but then decides that maybe it would be better if it didn't.

"Anthony?"

He looks up at the sudden voice in the otherwise quiet. Ducky's staring down at him with something akin to fatherly concern, but Tony's unaccustomed to such attention and it slides off him like water does a duck. He glances down at the other man's hands, thinks that just moments ago they were covered in white latex dripping with his partner's blood.

"What is it, Ducky?" He turns from the worried contemplation that's making him entirely too uncomfortable, and pretends to focus on the report that has been unable to capture his thought for the past two hours. He frowns in fake concentration and taps at the keyboard, though the letters are random and he's not even in the word program. "I'm a little busy here."

"Have you eaten yet, my young friend? You do not look well."

Tony's hands pause over the keyboard; hanging in the air like leafless branches on a tree. He turns slowly in his chair, favours the medical examiner with a deadpan look.

"How am I supposed to look? I just watched my partner of two years, the only woman whose ever been able to put up with me for more than forty five minutes at a time, my goddam mother included, gunned down in front of me by the terrorist who by all rights, should be dead by our hands. How the fuck am I supposed to look!"

It's the surprise in the older man's eyes that clues him in to the fact that he's lost control. He glances down at his hands, sees they're shaking like he suffers from tremors. He looks past his desk, to where McGee and Abby have paused in their dinner ministrations to gape at him in a sort of expected shock. Gibbs is standing on the landing of the stairs in the middle of the floor, a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. There's a look of disappointment in his eyes that cuts Tony to the core, hurts him more deeply than all the slaps to the back of the head combined.

He stands quickly, so quickly his chair tips over backwards behind him. He didn't mean to take his anger and frustration out on unsuspecting Ducky; he hadn't even realized he felt that way until the words started pouring from his lips. Colour infuses his face, and he's overcome with the need to get out. But as he turns to leave, to sidestep Ducky and get away from those goddam awful looks of sympathy, he's blocked by someone, an unfamiliar face in a building where unfamiliarity doesn't exist.

"Special Agent Dinozzo?"

Tony frowns, and suddenly the pressing need to escape melts away to nothing. Ducky moves to stand next to him, by his side despite being chewed out, and he sees Gibbs approaching from the other direction. He knows he's not alone, no matter what this stranger has to say, but that comes as little consolation.

"Who's asking?"he says. The coldness in his voice sounds like someone else, but he doesn't care to think any further on that.

"My name is Kevin McLean. I work for NCIS's legal department."

Gibbs appears across from him, both file and coffee gone to be replaced by three-hle punch, held in his right hand as though he might use it as a blunt instrument. "So what are you doing here?"

McLean glances over at Tony, but it's Gibbs he's addressing when he says, "I handled Agent Todd's living will and testament when she was hired by NCIS. She had a stipulation in her will to be executed within hours of her death."

Tony's knees begin to feel weak, and he wishes absurdly that he hadn't knocked his chair over. He catches Gibbs' eye from across the space between them, and sees his own concern mirrored there. "What does that have to do with me?"

McLean surverys the group of onlookers/supporters that's gathered, one that's grown by the addition of McGee and Abby. He swallows almost nervously, then says, "Perhaps we should discuss this in private."

Tony shakes his head, because he doesn't care what the others think, and he sort of likes having them around anyways. With other people around, he's more likely to be able to control his reactions. "It's doesn't matter. What're you gonna tell me?"

He lifts a briefcase that Tony hadn't noticed earlier, sets it down on his desk and opens it quickly. He picks up an envelope and holds it out. "She wanted you to have this, Special Agent Dinozzo. She made it very clear that you were to receive it as soon as possible, should she lose her life on the job."

Tony takes the envelope, holds it carefully between his fingers as if it were some kind of holy artifact. McLean is saying something else to him, but he pays it no mind. He sets the white paper envelope on his desk, rights his chair carefully and sits down in it. He's peripherally aware of Gibbs dismissing McLean, and is grateful for it. His last name is scrawled out across the front of the envelope, in that near indecipherable chicken scratch Kate called writing. His curiousity about the contents is overridden by the fact that the message almost seems to be delivered from beyond death. He doesn't want to open it, because that would kill the illusion. The illusion that maybe she isn't dead, maybe this is all some horrible practical joke, and the punchline is inside the folded white card paper.

"Tony." He looks up, sees Gibbs handing him a letter opener and his support with the same hand. He nodds firmly, accepts the tool and with a quick flick of his wrist, tears the envelope open.

A photo falls out, lands face up on his keyboard. It's a glossy four by six of Kate, with a huge grin on her face and her arms around a mangy looking german shepherd. At least, that's what Tony thinks it it. He's not entirely up to date on his knowledge of dog breeds. He shakes the envelope, and a collection of papers stapled together comes out. He unfolds it carefully, and is thankful to see she thought ahead to type this out.

'Dear Dinozzo,' it predictably starts out. He used to wonder if she even knew what his first name was.

'If you're reading this, it means I'm gone. Assuming you haven't found someway to bypass the lawyer/client confidiallity clause. Although I wouldn't put it past you.' He starts to smile, then remembers what it is he's doing, and the expression melts off his face.

'I always understood that this job was dangerous, and while I was never looking forward to death, I knew it was a possibility. So I'm taking every precaution to make sure my things will be taken care of.' He smiles a little again, despite himself, because she'd often accused him of being the most irresponsible person she'd ever known. Interesting to think she was now leaving something precious to her in his care.

'The dog in the picture I slipped in this envelope is named Moose. He's a german shepherd cross I adopted from the pound right before leaving the Secret Service. He's a very special dog, Tony, and needs special care. He was abused as a puppy, in horrific ways I don't want to get into. He's very dear to me, and I need to make sure he's going to be okay.' He takes his eyes off the paper for a moment, looks at the picture, and thinks maybe he can see a hint of something in the dogs solemn gaze, something that would indicate he has had a rough life. He understands that look.

'I'm writing this to you because you haven't fooled me. I'm trained as a profiler. It's going to take more than sarcastic jokes and a chauvanistic attitude to fool me. I know that despite what you've told us, your life hasn't been the free ride you'd like us to believe. I can see it in your face sometimes, when you don't notice my attention. You've got the look of a survivor.' Tony glances nervously at the demi-crowd still watching him, maybe waiting for him to read the letter out loud. He brings his hands closer to his chest, hunches in shoulders over the paper to protect the words, maintain both his privacy, and hers.

'That's why I'm leaving Moose in your care. I've thought about it long and hard, and I've decided someone who's known that kind of pain first hand would be best for him. And maybe he can do you some good too.' He frowns a little despite himself. There's a reason he never had a pet growing up; he has enough trouble taking care of himself on the best of days. A dog with emotional problems is probably not the best place to start. But if Kate, who despite one anamolous situation, has been a perfect judge of character thinks he can do it, well, then, he might as well give it a try. He reads on.

'You'll do fine. Just treat him the way you would want to be treated. And take care of them, Tony. I know it won't matter how I go. If it's on the job, Gibbs is going to blame himself. Don't let him get consumed. You're a great friend, despite all the evidence to the contrary, and I know I can count on you to take care of Moose.'

The letter ends aburptly with her scribble of a signature. He lets his chin fall to his chest, holds the paper tightly between his hands. He can feel the tenseness of the group around him, waiting with baited breath to be informed of what was Kate's wish so important it couldn't wait a day or two. But he finds he doesn't want to tell them. It seems better, more private to keep it to himself. So he carefully refolds the paper, the second of which is a detailed list of instructions on dog care (it seems maybe she didn't trust him as implicitly as he had assumed) and slips it into the inner pocket of the jacket he had pulled out of his locker and is now wearing.

"You okay, Dinozzo?"

If the timing were a little better, Tony might've smiled. Leave it to his boss to try to cover up curiousity with fake concern. It was so obvious that Gibbs wanted to know what was in the envelope just as bad as everyone else that...His train of thought is derailed as he finally catches the older man's eye. The pain in those solemn grey eyes in heart wrenching, and he thinks that Kate's warning was spot on. Of course he would blame himself; Tony is a fool not to have realized it before. Granted, he was a little busy, what with wiping grey matter off his face. But he had always prided himself on his observation skills; in his opinion, it was why he had always had such success in the law enforcement field.

He rapidly amends his first thought. If Tony needs this letter, Gibbs needs it even more. He clears his throat, motions to the picture that remains on his keyboard. "Her dog. She wants me to take him."

Gibbs eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, and it's clear to Tony he is just as surprised to hear that news. He waits for the jab, for the one-liner with the over shoulder delivery Gibbs has become famous for. But it doesn't come. Instead, something in his face softens, and Gibbs' lips turn up in what might approximate as a smile in some parts of the world.

"I have a key to Kate's place. I'll go get it." Abby speaks up from behind him, and seconds later brushes past his shoulder on her way to the lab. She has changed in the matter of minutes; there's none of the playful spark that Tony had alway associated with his near-Goth friend. All of the look, none of the attitude. There's a brief silence after her departure, before McGee breaks off from the group and follows her. Tony suspects the probie is worried about the possibility of a breakdown, but Tony knows her better than that. Much like himself, if there is something to do, Abby will hold it together. But after the work is done...he hopes fervently that McGee can handle her.

"You'll need a ride, Anthony. Her house is on my way; I can drop you off." Tony wants to refuse the ride; the last thing he wants right now is to be stuck in a small contained space with a sympathetic Ducky. But he has few options. One of the stipulations that he return to work today was that Gibbs pick him up. He's vehicle-less. So combine that with the fact that he doesn't want to hurt Ducky's feelings again by turning down the offer, and he nods.

"That'd be great, Duck."

He stoops to grab his backpack, swings it over his shoulder. A part of him wants to protest; him leaving early means everyone else will have to stay later. Afterall, he's not the only one who lost a teammate. But then Ducky's hand is on his elbow, gently leading him away, and Abby is pressing the key into his hand while telling him to get some rest. Then they're at the elevator, and he thinks it would probably be silly to go back. So he watches with heavy lidded eyes as Ducky presses the button to the lobby, then leans back against the wall and waits for the ride to be over.

Ducky has the good sense not to say anything; he must instinctually know that Tony would not be an ideal candidate for consolation or platitudes. So they wait in quiet, the only sound in the elevator the one of slow moving gears lowering them down to the first floor.

After what seems like a lifetime, the doors open to the lobby, and they are spat out onto the spotless tiled floor. Tony eyes the inlaid NCIS design in the middle of the floor, the mocking words about bravery and courage, and wants to sneer, but even in his state of mind has more sense than that. He feels the eyes of the receptionists on his back, can feel their morbid curiosity through their masks of sadness and sympathy. He starts to turn in their direction, mind spinning up some kind of snarky line that will make them think twice before watching and waiting for someone to fall apart. But then Ducky's hand is on his elbow again, leading him towards the bullet-proof glass double doors that lead out to the parking garage.

"Not today, my boy,"he says quietly, knowingly. "They will get theirs, but not today."

Tony decides Ducky is probably right. Besides, he never comes up with his best stuff, his most biting, hurtful one liners that he learned so well from his father, when his hands are still shaking from rage. It's only when he's able to distance himself from situations that he can really let the insults fly. And being close enough to feel the blood on her face is not nearly distant enough.

Tony lets Ducky lead him to the well-maintained classic 1967 Mustang in the far corner of the parking garage, and by some miracle of self-control, manages not to let his jaw drop to the pavement. The last thing he expected Ducky to drive as a muscle car. Whenever he pictured Ducky driving, which admittedly, wasn't often, he was always behind the wheel of a Buick, or a Cadillac. Something with a orthopedic cushion on the driver's seat, and a bumper sticker that read 'If you don't like the way I drive, get off the sidewalk.'

He drops down into the cream coloured leather bucket seat, and stows his bag away between his feet. Ducky crosses around the front of the car, and slides easily into his own side.

"Duck, this car is fantastic." Tony watches with newly kindled admiration as Ducky sticks the key in the ignition, and the car responds to his touch with a roar.

The medical examiner smiles. "What, did you think because I listen to Frank Sinatra, and talk about the good old days, that I drove a Buick, or some such thing?"

Tony doesn't answer, because he thought exactly that. Instead he leans his head against the cool glass window, because maybe he did work himself a little hard for his first day back. Maybe he is feeling a little light-heated, though how much of that is from recovering illness, or seeing his partners brains splatter against asphalt, he's unsure. Doesn't really care to find out.

He tells himself he's not going to fall asleep. This day is far too important, and he will not belittle it by napping. He tells himself this several times, and regardless of how strongly he meant, he is soon sucked into oblivion.

* * *

A light but insistent touch on his elbow is what brings him back from the edge. He feels horrible; sore, stiff muscles, his throat is dry, scratchy and terribly painful, as if he had developed strepp throat in the past...how long has it been? 

He looks to his left, meets Ducky's inquisitive gaze. This is strange, Tony thinks. He doesn't think he's ever been in a classic car with the medical examiner. But the clearly vintage odometer, the chrome steering wheel and cream leather bucket seats could be nothing else. He looks out the window, squints a little to see in the receding daylight. The car is parked next to the curb in front of a small, two story red brick house. There's a small garden planted in front of the steps, a few tiny patches of blue flowers, and a shrub surrounded by cedar chips. It's familiar to his fuzzy memory, brings up some kind of unidentifiable, though certainly painful, emotion. He squints a little harder, reads the name spelled out on the wooden mailbox in brass letters, and whatever colour is leftover leaves his face in a rush. _Kate..._

He finds tears springing to his tired eyes, and he blinks furiously to dispell them. Apparently his nap (or whatever it was) had taken him deeper than he thought. The memories that had remained hidden for a scant few seconds come rushing back, and he remembers what it felt like to have his partner's blood splatter against his skin.

"Anthony? Are you all right?"

Tony nods without looking at Ducky, wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, and opens the car door. He doesn't wince as he heaves himself out of the car, despite the pain radiating from his weak and overworked body.

He's been to Kate's house before; it looks a little different in the fast receding light. But now standing on the grass boulevard next to the road, he realises it's familiarity. He'd only ever been here in a professional capacity, picking up Kate when her car was in the shop. Once when she had a nasty cold and didn't trust herself to drive on medication. They were close, but neither was the type to want to get together outside of work. All that they had been through and that one line always remained.

He feels Ducky stand beside him, rather than see him, because he's developed a sort of tunnel vision. Kate's house, the front door in particular, is the only thing in his line of sight. The rest of the neighbourhood was blurry, non-existent in terms of his attention.

"I can keep you company if you like."

He glances left at his co-worker, manages a smile more for Ducky's benefit than an actual expression of feeling. "I'll be fine, Duck. Gotta do it on my own, y'know?"

Tony starts forward, towards the house, without waiting for a reply. As much as he doesn't want to do this, he wants more to get it over with. He hears Ducky ask that he promise to call him for a ride when he finishes, and Tony agrees, even as he tells himself he won't. He would sooner walk across town than ask for for help again. The car door slams behind him, but the engine doesn't turn over. He pictures Duck sitting in the driver's seat, key in ignition but hands in his lap, watching Tony approach the front door like he was moving towards his own death.

He reaches the first step, and any thought not directly pertaining to the next few seconds vanishes. He's not surprised to find he doesn't want to do this; despite what his co-workers think, he's not a brave man. At least, not in a personal, emotional sense. It's part of the reason why he surrounds himself with people like Kate and Gibbs and Abby. It's easy to pretend he's strong with so many good role models around.

His right hand drops to the pocket of his jeans, and he feels the sharp metal outline of the key Abby fetched for him before he left the office. He wishes now he had asked Abby to come. Or Gibbs. Hell, even McGee would've taken the edge of it. Anything, or anyone, to take his mind off the fact that if Kate was still alive, he'd be trespassing. His hand slips inside his pocket, and his fingers close around the warm metal of the key. Kate seemed to think he could handle it alone, and considering he could count the amount of times her judgement had been off on one finger, he decides maybe he can trust her. Maybe he is strong enough to do this on his own, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Tony takes a deep breath, and steps up to the door.

* * *

A/N: I hope this is satisfactory. I've lost people in my life, but never someone my life depended on, and never while I was watching. I have no idea how something like what Tony went through would affect a person, and while I have no desire to find out, I hope I did the resulting emotions justice.

On a sidenote, I also have no idea how inheritance are received. I'm pretty sure it takeslonger than a few hours, but I assumed that since Kate and Tony are both federal agents, things might be a little different. Let me know what you think, I want to know if the premise works.


End file.
